


One Day

by anoyo



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-29
Updated: 2009-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoyo/pseuds/anoyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day Merlin learned of his mother's death was the day Arthur learned of Merlin's magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written in sort of a bizarre point-of-view, and sort of depressing, but also sort of not depressing. I have no idea what I'm even talking about anymore. Yeah. Originally posted [here](http://anoyo.livejournal.com/146343.html).

The day Merlin learned of his mother's death was the day Arthur learned of Merlin's magic.

Merlin had once been told, as a child, that there would be days that he would remember all his life. Birth, death, accident, or triumph, days that Merlin could not forget would grow in number as did his years. In the grand scheme of his life, though Merlin knew not yet the vastness that awaited him, one day could be no more or less than any other day. Twenty-four hours; one cycle of the sun. One day was one day, and could only be one day.

That didn't stop him from remembering, in all his days, those certain few of which his mother had warned him.

The news reached Camelot much like all the rest: by word of mouth and panicked gossip. "Raiders!" the people cried. "They've destroyed a number of villages and they're headed to Camelot!" No one in Merlin's village who lived knew where to contact him, so Merlin himself received no news.

It was Arthur who learned of it, in a meeting with his father and the heads of his father's army, shoved in a list with the other villages that were not in Camelot's boundaries. One village among many that flashed before Arthur's eyes, and caused him to stop the messenger mid-speech. Caused him to question, to hear it repeated, and to settle back more heavily in his seat to take in planning that was suddenly weightier than Arthur could possibly have imagined.

When Arthur returned to his quarters, he almost didn't hear Merlin ask, "What news?" over the roar in his head. He related the details of the meeting as calmly as he could, watching Merlin's face pale. Once he had finished, he asked, "Have you had any word?"

Arthur did not remember the day his mother died; it would have been almost impossible for him to have done so. Then, watching the world crumble around Merlin, he thought he might be able to imagine how it would have felt.

"No," Merlin replied, softly. "None."

But, it wasn't Arthur's mother who might have died. Arthur's mother was already dead, and it fell to him, at that moment, to be the one who remained calm and strong. So he said, "Then we cannot assume anything," and hoped that he looked like he meant it.

Either he had succeeded, or Merlin had needed him to succeed so much that he was able to pretend that he had. Merlin took a breath, released it, and replied, "You're right." He took another breath to steady himself, and Arthur could see the determination that was holding Merlin up building, and holding. "What was decided?" Merlin asked.

"The armies will distribute generally to the villages of Camelot, with one party sent in the direction of the raiders to eliminate them. My knights and I are being sent to offer aid to the villages that have already been sacked. The king thought it would be best for morale, and also safest for the crown prince." Arthur kept the bitterness from his voice, but it was a near thing, and he knew Merlin would sense it, anyway.

Regardless, Merlin replied in his usual way. "I will be coming with you, of course." Where a smile and a somewhat treasonous expression would have been, a tightening of Merlin's lips was the only indication of referenced humor.

Arthur might have argued, if he'd had the energy. Knights rarely brought servants who were untrained for war into fighting situations; there were servants specifically trained for such circumstances. He had yet to win that fight. "Of course," Arthur replied, with a look that told Merlin that he knew what the other man was thinking.

They left for the border villages the next day.

The raiders had sacked ten villages in all, over the course of a fortnight, which told Arthur that there were more of them than the kingdom had seen in years. It was particularly unusual for so many to be working together, but as it was not his duty to deliver the raiders, he did not consider it further. He had enough to consider keeping Merlin's impatience at bay as they slowly worked toward the villages outside the kingdom.

Arthur had argued for aid to be sent outside Camelot, and his father had eventually agreed. The truth of this, Arthur did not share with Merlin. Merlin's reticence to respect the king, following the last incident at his home, could quickly become discontent, and Arthur did not want to think about that, let alone deal with it at this time.

It took more than two weeks to reach Merlin's village, with the party having spent an average of three days in each village, and they knew what to expect long before they got there. Arthur did his best to both give Merlin support and keep him from raising his hopes too high, considering the destruction that they had seen. When they reached the village, Arthur took to his duties with a detached efficiency, choosing not to notice when Merlin disappeared.

When Merlin did not readily reappear, Arthur took that for his answer. A quick, pained interview with another villager answered it more finally, and Arthur excused himself as soon as his knights were situated, each doing something productive.

Finding Merlin was not a problem. The village had, in its grief, laid out and covered their dead, refocusing their meager supplies and manpower to saving the living. They had told Arthur, pain in their eyes, that they would see to the dead as soon as they could go a day without adding anyone to that field of cold cloth.

Arthur walked to where Merlin was sitting and knelt next to him, silently taking in the figure before them. Merlin was silent, though a shining path down his cheeks told Arthur that he had not been so all along. After several moments, Arthur said, "I'm sorry."

"I know," Merlin said lightly. "Though there wasn't anything you could have done, so why you're sorry, I do not know."

"Not for anything I could or couldn't have done," Arthur said, "but for being unable to do anything in the first place."

"That's a hollow, dangerous sort of feeling," Merlin replied, and he turned to look at Arthur as he said it. "You start to take on the weight of the world, then. Only when you take on that weight do you realize how little is truly in your control. Don't do that. Someday, there will be things that you can do only if you believe that there is nothing you cannot do if you just trust in your ability." Dilated as they were with pain and grief, a trick of the light changed the remnants of Merlin's irises a liquid, golden color. "There is very little truly outside of your ability, Arthur. So, thank you for your feelings, but do not remain thinking of them."

Breath catching in his throat, Arthur watched Merlin's expression for a moment, lost in what he thought he could see, until Merlin startled and the depth was gone. Merlin blinked at Arthur, as though unsure of why he was staring so intently at the prince, then gave a tight-lipped smile.

"I think we should begin giving them a proper burial," Merlin said, his voice rasping past too many shed tears, not the steady voice Arthur had just heard.

Arthur nodded in response. "We can ask the villagers where that ought to be," he said, slowly getting to his feet. Holding a hand out for Merlin, he continued, "Because that's all we can do."

Taking Arthur's hand, Merlin allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, replying, "Yes."

They took care of Merlin's village like they had taken care of all the previous villages they had been through: began preparations for proper burial of the dead, gave food, water, and clothing to the living, and began the repairs that the villagers were too busy and traumatized to do themselves.

When Arthur spread his bedroll, he was achingly tired, and it was a deeper fatigue than physical labor could ever inspire. As was often the case, when Arthur felt as tired as he did now, he spent most of the night staring at the stars and considering things that only ever occurred to him on sleepless nights. How could he change this, when he was king? What was the difference between protecting those who had pledged to you their loyalty and simply protecting all of those who needed it? Where were men's minds, when they did things like this?

Arthur was a man of action, somewhere deep and central within his being. He rose, rather than continue vainly to try and sleep, and let himself wonder while wandering around the village. Seeing the remains of buildings at night was just the fuel Arthur's troubled, painful thoughts needed to spur him to consider waking Merlin. It was an odd thought, but something in Arthur told him that it was the correct one. Somehow, Arthur felt that Merlin might be able to give him new insight into his age-old arguments with himself.

He was not surprised when Merlin was not in his bedroll, though he was worried when he could not immediately find him. A strange pull within him led him to the edge of the forest, then to a deer trail that worked its way further into the trees. Arthur followed it.

A clearing lay at the end of the trail, and within it Arthur could make out distinctly three things, illuminated by the moon peering in between the trees and seeming to reflect off every surface. The first thing Arthur could make out was Merlin, standing in the center of the clearing, staring down at an object that was the second object Arthur recognized: Merlin's mother, laid out upon a decent pyre of brush, grasses, and evenly cut branches. The third was what appeared to be the skeleton of an old wreath, wrapped around a branch overhead and tied with a single, frayed, aged white ribbon. Slowly, as Arthur approached silently over the trail, he heard Merlin say, "I'm sorry I wasn't here. Maybe I could've stopped it, but I'll never know. So I'll do what you wanted me to do, and live my life the way you would've told me to."

Before Arthur could reach him, Merlin held his hand out in front of him and said something that Arthur couldn't make out. At Merlin's words, the pyre lit in a steady fire, quickly consuming the dry materials. Arthur watched the body of Merlin's mother slowly burn, watched Merlin's eyes watching the ash and smoke rise, all while his body continued to move slowly forward, into the clearing. Just as the fire completely enveloped the pyre, Arthur drew even with Merlin, and reached forward to clasp Merlin's shoulder.

Merlin startled, but did not draw away as he recognized Arthur. He didn't say anything.

The silence was not stifling, but Arthur broke it. "Why are you out here by yourself?" he asked. He didn't mention the magic.

Somehow, he thought that Merlin could tell that he had seen. Merlin replied, "I'm sorry."


End file.
